


Creatures of the Swamp

by loosenoodlepoodledoodle



Series: The Dustbin of History [4]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Absurd, Female Ejaculation, Gen, Misogyny, Parody, Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosenoodlepoodledoodle/pseuds/loosenoodlepoodledoodle
Summary: The election is over, and something has to be done. Somebody has to drain this swamp!Little does AOC know, that the best folks for swamp-draining are the Creatures of the Swamp!
Series: The Dustbin of History [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007061
Kudos: 6





	Creatures of the Swamp

It was eleven in the morning, but as AOC gazed across the Potomac, the hour looked closer to midnight. A dark cloud was gathering over Washington, D.C., and only a sickly orange glow cut through the murk.

AOC sighed. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Down on the riverbank, she spied a figure in tattered leather, rowing a canoe. It seemed to be a man, and an old one at that; he mostly let the currents pull him along. He was wearing a mishmash of an Uncle Sam costume and whatever it was that Crocodile Dundee wore. AOC met him at the edge of the flood.

“You ready, angel?” said Joe Biden. AOC nodded.

“Then hop aboard this ferryboat ride to Hell.”

She sat down in front of him, and ignored it when he gave her a quick shoulder rub.

***

They reached the far shore, where AOC had to take over rowing, because Old Joe just wasn’t strong enough to beat this flow. Veritable waterfalls of malarkey, mayhem, and bullshit poured out of the streets of the old Capitol, the effluvium of 2020 made tangible. They found a dry patch to alight next to the Jefferson Memorial; here someone from the Park Police had left their MRAP (Mine-Resistant, Ambush-Protected) with the keys on the dash and the tank half-full. AOC winced at it. She couldn’t decide which was worse, the environmental impact or the social.

“C’mon, kiddo,” said Old Joe, and he got up into the truck cabin. AOC hesitated.

“Ye gotta be _of_ the swamp if ye wanna _fight_ the swamp,” said Old Joe. AOC didn’t quite believe him.

***

The swamp sloshed around outside the truck, and they both felt the smelly water rising inside with them. The air intake was high up, but that wouldn’t help much if the truck got bogged down. AOC saw the worried look in Old Joe’s eyes.

“Hey, angel, do ye smell somethin’ funny?”

AOC sniffed around. “Apart from that chemical and raw sewage smell?”

“Yeah.” Sniff-sniff. “Somethin’ kinda like…kinda like oysters?”

Now it was unmistakable. AOC wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before.

“Where is that even coming from?” she asked.

“Dunno, angel,” said Old Joe, “but maybe it’s the source of all this filthy water.”

They trundled on, roughly in the direction of the White House, but they couldn’t know for sure if they were going the right way. The clouds kept getting darker, and the orange glow yet more intense. There was even a warm, smelly rain falling on them now.

“So, is there a wildfire nearby, or what?” asked AOC.

“Nah,” said Old Joe. “It’s brimstone, angel. This fire’s straight from Hell itself.”

“Yeah, but what the fuck do you mean by that?”

Old Joe shrugged. “It’s _Trump_ -fire, you know what I mean? And that cloud is his _mi-as-ma_.”

AOC shuddered; Biden had sounded like the Golden Fart just then. It greatly disturbed her how mentally vulnerable they all were to His unholy emanations. Even _she_ had given in to a right-wing talking point: on her belt was holstered a semiautomatic handgun.

She hoped it would be enough. Everything stronger had been taken by _Them_.

She looked out the passenger-side window and suddenly noticed something disconcerting. The water was now blocking over half the view, and pretty soon they’d be completely submerged. The truck stopped moving forward as if to emphasize the point.

“We’re gonna drown if we stay here!” shouted AOC, but Old Joe was in over his head.

“Aww, shucks, aww fiddlesticks, aww…aww…aww _shucks…”_

AOC took charge. “Move, goddamn it!” She unbuckled his belt and her own, and manhandled him out of his seat. Then, taking a deep breath, she muscled open the door.

“Now it’s more of a clam smell…” said Old Joe.

The water flowed in, and for a moment all seemed in doubt. But AOC, in her righteous fury, fought against the tide and won! Then Old Joe got his foot stuck in one of the seatbelts.

“Dagnabbit, I’m so used to riding Amtrak, I done forgot how to get out of an automobile!”

AOC dove under the cloying waves, and tried to free poor Old Joe. Out of breath, she surfaced, only to see that she was out of time. The water had reached his chin, and in seconds he’d be a goner.”

“Go on, angel! I’m too old for this shit anyway! It’s you kids who are the future! Go on, fight the good fight, and win! Build that new world us establishment types was always afraid of! I’m just a placeholder after—”

And with one final _glub_ , he was gone.

***

AOC shimmied up on top of the MRAP, but doing so was of little use. The swamp had become a raging river, and she could feel the truck giving way beneath her. Close by was a tall, decorative streetlamp, her only hope. She waited until the last possible second, then swam toward it with all her might. She didn’t even come close to it, but luck saved her in the end. The current swept her along, until she ended up by a fence on a side street. Getting a grip, she hoisted herself up. Then she spotted a large tree, rooted into the ground. Gauging correctly this time, she reached it safely and started to climb.

Time passed as she waited for the flood to end. After a good thirty minutes of shivering in the stink, it finally started to abate. Soon, she felt secure enough to try moving forward along the fence, post to post.

She found the streetlamp again, and leaned against it while she caught her breath. Already she was able to walk around, the muck level stabilizing to just above her knees, although every so often there would be a rush that reached her navel.

She looked around. The MRAP was totally gone. The world was strangely placid, as though it had finally gotten so sick of all the debasement happening within it that it had given up caring. The feeling broke her heart.

“Not now,” she said to herself, “not after everything we’ve fought for. Everything we’ve had to put up with…”

There was a gurgling sound off to her left. One of the storm drains in the street had quite the whirlpool emptying into it.

Another rush came, weaker than before, and with the rainfall stopping, she could hear more than she could before. Someone far off, a woman, she thought, was saying something inane into a loud speaker, and cries of joy followed. AOC grinned. Trump’s weakness for attention would lead her right to Him.

_“Heh. Heh. Heh.”_

AOC whirled around to her right. Way down the street, under another lamp, a figure stood grinning, a horrible clown.

“It was my idea, you know,” said Rudy Giuliani, in his lisp. “I left that trap for him. For Biden.”

AOC rolled her eyes. Glancing back at the whirlpool, she hatched a plan in her mind.

“You mean the truck, r—" and her word was cut off with a sudden intake of breath.

The clown was right in front of her now, and she had never heard him move. The makeup was giving his bald dome a terrible rash, and his crooked teeth were unnaturally white.

“Yes, the truck. Exactly. I left it there for you guys, and you took it, and now he’s gone. Trump’s gonna love this so much. I’m his fixer. I’m the one he’s gonna reward. You’ll see. You’ll—”

“I’m sure he’ll reward you with exactly what you deserve,” said AOC coolly. “Exactly what all his other ‘friends’ got in the end.”

The clown brushed off her prediction. “You kids don’t know anything. And you’re lucky you’re hot. Otherwise, you’d be dead, too. Me, I’m not hot, or a woman for that matter, but since He doesn’t trust any women, He trusts _me_. Cuz I’m his fixer.”

“You already said that.”

“Of course I did, sweetheart. They’re waiting for you, at the party. They’re having a grand old time, at that party! See what I did there? Anyways, Jeff’s back, it’s a reunion between them, they’d love to have you, believe me. So why don’t you head on up there and have a ball, huh, toots?”

AOC tried to remain inconspicuous as she stroked the Glock in her holster, but temptation betrayed her, like the Ring of Power.

“Oh, sweetheart, thanks for the gift!” The clown magicked the handgun away from her and over to him. “You gotta understand, toots, the Second Amendment was never meant for any of _you_ people!” And oh how he laughed!

AOC gritted her teeth. Summoning up her most doe-eyed look, she bade the clown over. “I don’t want to embarrass myself at the party,” she said all innocent and sultry. “Can you teach a girl to dance?”

“Intimately?” she added.

The clown heartily agreed. He stowed the Glock away, never to be seen again.

“You know,” he began, as they slowly waltzed among the ashes of the world, “when I was Mayor— _America’s_ Mayor! When I was Mayor, I—”

But AOC never got to hear what ridiculous, misogynistic rant Giuliani was cooking up, because she quickly maneuvered him into the whirlpool. Alone again, she cracked her knuckles and got her bearings.

“Right. Time to crash that ‘ _party_.’”

***

The voices on the wind became clearer the closer she got to the White House. Security was lacking, all of the stooges having drowned like Old Joe in the storm and flood. AOC strolled through the gate and discovered just what kind of party it actually was.

“The best—is yet—to COME!” screamed Kimberley Guilfoyle, and all the other hot right-wing women who’d sold their souls to Trump were laying down on the lawn with their legs spread, massagers pressed hard against their clits as they squirted massive volumes. AOC had to dodge the epic spray. Here was the source of the oyster smell, but there wasn’t enough fluid to fill the streets. Instead a rush burst out the ground floor windows and doors of the White House itself. The orange glow was strongest from inside, but somehow the very marble of the exterior itself was faintly luminescent, too.

_Here we go,_ thought AOC. _Time to avenge America._

She crept past the pussy play, and right through the open front doors. The heat within was intense, the humidity barely tolerable. The stench of bullshit was strong, but so was the scent of stale McNugget grease.

She had to hold her nose.

The orange glow was even more mysterious. It was coming from everything, the walls, the furniture. At first she didn’t see any people, but now she found them, hither and thither, frozen in place like the _best_ of Sander Cohen, and they were glowing, too. Here was Jared Kushner, the Bond villain, the Boy Wonder. There was Stephen Miller, bent over a desk, in the middle of writing a new purity proposal. She passed Ivanka, and Melania, and Ken Cuccinelli. But searching the House up and down, she couldn’t find The Man himself.

“Where the hell is he?” she wondered out loud. Then it hit her, literally, as the orgasmic chorus outside assailed her ears once more: _find the source of the flood._

Down she went, into the basement. The water was much higher here, and every wave that struck went over her head, threatening to drown her. But equally, every wave somehow flowed upstairs, against gravity, defying the laws of nature as only He could. Thus she always found respite.

The glow became even more intense, the rooms moister and hotter, and AOC thought she could hear a heartbeat. Deeper she went, finding the secret passage to the bunker of doom. Outside the blast doors stood Jeffery Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell, frozen in conversation, no doubt the former describing his sexual exploits in Hell to the latter. AOC shivered despite the intense heat.

Now she reached an elevator, but something about it was so unseemly that she couldn’t even bother with it. Instead she took the stairs, and she almost regretted it. Here the unholy waters were constantly running upwards, like an upside-down waterfall, and far below was an unlight like the sun.

AOC gulped. _Almost there. You’re almost to the end._

Every step became heavier, the air leaden with His cloying, thick miasma. The descent was so long, she thought she would lose her mind, just like we all have during quarantine. Abruptly she reached the end, and there was only one door down here. And it was open.

Steeling herself, AOC crossed the threshold, only to find…

“Nothing? No way, he has to be here!”

She looked around more carefully, certain there had to be a secret door or panel in the wall. The heat was relentless, the orange glow coming from everywhere, close to blinding her. She couldn’t tell if it was her own pulse pounding in her ears or that of the disembodied heart. She finally spotted something suspicious, what she took for some kind of wiring shallowly placed under the wallpaper. She traced it towards its source, noticing other similar lines, all converging on a point just around a hidden corner from the doorway and—

She gasped, and tried to scream, but gagged instead, her voice crushed in her throat.

 _“I was...so hungry…”_ said a terrible voice _. “I had to eat…eat something…”_

_The wires were veins_ , thought AOC in horror.

_“I’m not…not sorry…”_ said Trump. He was just a fat face on the wall, his flesh having stretched to consume the whole world.

_“I’m…not sorry…at all.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I ripped off that freaky Garfield meme.
> 
> "I'm sorry, Jon... I was so hungry..."


End file.
